


Green Looks Good On You (The Woes of Mutual Pining & Jealousy)

by NaughtySammyBoy



Series: Looks Good Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cunnilingus, Emotional Sex, F/M, Feels, Fingerfucking, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Humor, Jealousy, Mutual Pining, Porn with Feelings, Sam Winchester Feels, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:54:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23506438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaughtySammyBoy/pseuds/NaughtySammyBoy
Summary: You and the boys go out for some drinks after a successful hunt. Things get a little topsy-turvy when repressed feelings are unveiled. Some nice, perhaps a bit nosey, strangers help move things along. Everyone has a good time. //scene
Relationships: Sam Winchester/Reader, Sam Winchester/You
Series: Looks Good Verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1745008
Comments: 30
Kudos: 131





	Green Looks Good On You (The Woes of Mutual Pining & Jealousy)

**Author's Note:**

> Lmao it's been a while *cracks knuckles* Feels pretty good. 
> 
> Just want to say that Sam and Dean's POV's are separated from the reader's by parenthesis. I thought that better helped differentiate whose view is whose. 
> 
> This a happy-ending-guaranteed kinda fic because I'm a ~~sucker~~ **_hopeless romantic._**
> 
> This thing is also hella long. Half of it is sex, promise. (How much detail is too much detail anyway? Asking for a friend 🤷🏼)

It's the run-of-the-mill, post-hunt evening. 

The three of you—you and the brothers Winchester—are cleaning up and then heading out for a few celebratory drinks, having successfully taken out a nasty vamps nest that you'd been tracking for the greater part of the last two months. You'd kept track of victim patterns, state bodies were found in, space of time between each kill reported on. It was a slow and steady kind of hunt, one that required meticulous planning and even more meticulous follow-through. You'd managed to come out the other side with nothing more than some minor scrapes and bruises. It’s nothing a hot shower and some antiseptic couldn't take care of. 

You'd decided to spring for a hotel suite at the nicest joint in the town, deciding that the lot of you had earned it after kicking some serious monster ass. Plus, it would only be for a night, so there wouldn't be too much damage done on your illegally acquired credit card that had a stupid high limit. You still don't know you'd swung that one. 

The room was so much nicer than any you'd ever stayed in. It was positively lush. Two bedrooms, one with a king and the other with two queens, connected by a Jack-and-Jill style bathroom, as well as a small lounging area off to the side with a flat screen television anchored to the wall across from velvet-lined furniture. 

The boys let you have the first shower, their way of saying thanks for the digs. It was downright _decadent_. Hot water fell from a rainfall style showerhead, cascading down your body and washing away any dirt and grime that had collected on it. You comb your fingers through your hair, working up a lather on your scalp with sweet-smelling shampoo before rinsing and repeating because it just feels too good to do only once. Loofah loaded with a daintily scented soap, you scrub at your skin, humming happy little notes at the feeling of becoming clean again. It feels so nice, you wonder if the boys would notice if you just stayed in here forever. 

Deciding that they definitely would and probably wouldn't be too thrilled with the idea, you kill the water and drag yourself out of the glass-encased stall, standing upon the mat at the entrance of it and reaching to yoink a soft, hotel-provided robe from where it hangs nearby. Once wrapped and tied securely into its plushy confinement, you twist your hair up into an equally soft towel and go about some simple skin care and dental hygiene, glowing in the glamour lights that line the bathroom mirror. 

Steam follows you out once you open the door to the room the boys are staying in, finding them each splayed out on their own queen bed. Dean's mindlessly thumbing through his phone while Sam flicks through the vast array of channels the hotel offers. 

"Bathroom's free," you announce, grabbing their attention and smiling into, "And I'll testify to the fact that, _that_ was without a doubt the best shower I've ever taken in the span of my entire existence." 

Dean snorts, scooping up the pile of fresh clothes he'd already had laid out and ready. "I'll be the judge of that," he says with a challenging smirk as he passes you and disappears into the bathroom, making a show of locking it behind him. 

You shake your head, an amused breath puffing past your lips. Deciding that there's still plenty of time before you have to absolutely get ready to go, you crawl your way up onto the bed Sam's claimed for himself and stretch out beside him. It's casual. You do it all the time. Especially the times when you have to share a room that isn't as nice as your current one, one without the luxury of a bed for each of you. 

"What're we watching?" You question him, sighing into a comfortable position. 

"Not sure yet," he answers, and you find yourself examining the way his brows are drawn tight in concentration, his white teeth worrying his bottom lip as he looks for something to settle on. 

(Sam's only fifty percent sure that you're one hundred percent naked beneath the robe you're wearing. He tries to desperately ignore that thought and doesn't dare meet your gaze, afraid that you'll see in his eyes all the less-than-polite thoughts he's currently trying to push away.) 

Laying in comfortable silence, save for the television in the background, you try not to doze off. The bed beneath you is just so nice. Firm but not too firm. Enough give that you sink just a bit into it. It makes you excited to climb into your own later in the night. 

You turn over towards Sam on your side, drawing your knees up a bit towards your chest and tucking a bent arm under your head, letting your eyelids flutter shut and body go lax. 

(Sam's now acutely aware that the robe has ridden up your thighs just a bit with the change in position. Not enough to spare him a glance at your goodies, but enough to make his mouth go a little dry and a familiar warmth to flood his lower belly. 

He zeroes in his attention back on the movie playing on the TV, running his suddenly damp palms down his denim-covered thighs. He demands himself to reign it in. 

He does, however, allow himself to note how adorable and at peace you look beside him.) 

You awake from your cat nap, a pregame to a night of drinking you'd say, when Dean comes out of the bathroom, steam billowing out around him, wearing the same outfit as you, towel on his head and all, looking a bit dazed as he grabs dramatically at the doorframe he's wobbling within. The robe is much shorter on him than you, falling mid-thigh on him. Through bleary eyes, caught somewhere between awake and asleep, you watch him, letting a full-bodied laugh overtake you. Sam does, too. 

"My life," Dean grabs at his robe-clad chest, clutching over his heart, theatrical and comical wrapped into one, "Shall never be like it once was! Changed forever!" 

"Didn't I tell you as much?" You say through laughter, clutching at your stomach where it's started to ache. 

It feels so good, you think, to be here with your boys, laughing and enjoying the prospects of a fight won, staying in a swanky room, and a night of celebration ahead of you. It's so rare these days. You often long for days like this one. You try not dwell too long on that part, though. 

"Now I _must_ see for myself!" Sam bellows once Dean's returned from grabbing his clothes from the bathroom. "I do pray there's a third robe for mine own self!" He launches himself off the bed and gallops away, making tears spring to your eyes as another peal of laughter leaves you. 

"I should go get ready," you tell Dean once you've calmed down, pulling—more like forcing really—yourself away from the heavenly mattress you've pretty much adhered to at this point. "Take pictures if Sam comes out in that robe. I need photographic evidence to use as blackmail should a day come I need it." 

Dean clicks his tongue. "Uh-huh," he agrees, eyes you a bit shrewdly as you head for the second door of the room, the one that leads to the lounge area. "Sure," he says, as if he knows something you don't, the shower turning on in the background, "Because _that's_ what you want them for." 

The comment makes you freeze, hand halting mid-air where it's begun its reach for the door's knob. You turn to him, eyes narrowed. "And just what is that supposed to mean?" You question back, trying to smother a smile. 

Dean's smirk is relentless. "Oh, I think you know what it means, princess." 

You shake your head in decline. "We're just friends," you tell him with a tight laugh and a soft shrug, trying to come off as unbothered, all while trying to ignore the lump that's formed in your throat, "It's not like that." 

"Okay," Dean shrugs, plopping himself down onto his bed. "If you say so." 

You can _taste_ the heady sarcasm that's swirled through his words. Ignoring it, you leave and scurry off to your own accommodations, closing the door behind you and tasking yourself with picking out an outfit. Thankfully, you'd done a few loads of laundry before you left the bunker for this case, so you have a few different and decent options to choose from. You try not to subconsciously allow yourself to base your decisions upon whether you think a certain Winchester would like it or not. 

Spoiler alert: you fail. 

You end up in a denim [mini-skirt](https://www.fashionnova.com/products/love-me-now-denim-skirt-medium-wash?variant=116537557009&flow_enabled=false&gclid=CjwKCAjw4KD0BRBUEiwA7MFNTcGVCAjl2T1o-Kpd8DsYWTC-2uZOXBqS9fVmBKVxXyCeHJavotfrxBoC5vcQAvD_BwE) with a frayed hem and some distressed patches. It has a little stretch to its material so it hugs your ass quite nicely. It's paired with a simple black tank top and a pair of strappy cork [wedges](https://images.app.goo.gl/283JHdSht5JwHRZc8), and of course, some dirty girl [lingerie](https://www.google.com/search?q=emerald+satin+panty+and+bra&tbm=isch&hl=en&tbs&client=ms-android-mpcs-us-revc&prmd=sivn&hl=en&ved=2ahUKEwjBk7ir_dLoAhWqSDABHfERAJsQzKUFegQIARAI&biw=360&bih=568#imgrc=Qt-ZU04ZhlkSzM&imgdii=8tUr_1u7L0es1M) underneath to really bring it all together. 

To finish up, you fuss with your still-drying hair a little and apply some makeup. It's nothing too crazy, just a light layer that's fresh, dewy, and enhances your features in just the right ways. You do final looks in the tall mirror attached to the back of the room door and smile at what you see. You're not cocky at all, but you can't help feel a little confident now that you're fully dressed and ready to go. It's not too often that you get to throw on something other than hunting clothes or lounging-around-the-bunker attire, so you plan to make the most of it. 

You shove your i.d., the room key, and some cash into the small pocket of your skirt and leave your room, and you find that the boys are waiting for you in the main common area of the suite, wearing their best flannel and denim. They look over at you upon your entrance, their eyes bulging just a bit as they take you in in their own ways. 

Dean just seems surprised, while Sam—well, you try not to think too much about the way Sam eyes start from the wedges adorning your feet and travel sluggishly up the length of you, something unreadable flashing in his eyes when they finally meet yours. _Shock_ , you think, _he's just shocked_. He never really gets to see you dressed like this. That's all, nothing more. 

(Sam thinks he won't make it. 

He's using all effort he has not to chub up in his jeans at the mere sight of you, looking so...so fucking _good_. 

_Say something_ , he mentally screams at himself, _tell her she looks beautiful. Maybe, ravishing is a better word. Or perhaps gorgeous. No, matter of fact, tell her she looks downright. fucking. sinful._ ) 

(Dean looks at the way you're both looking at each other, like you're in some mutual trance. He rolls his eyes. 

He thinks you two should just skip going out all together and keep each other company instead. Get it the fuck over with already. _Yeesh._ ) 

"All right!" Dean yelps, clapping his hands loudly and pulling himself up from where he's seated, breaking you from whatever… _that_ just was with Sam. "If we're all ready, then let's go." 

You notice Sam's mouth shuts, like maybe he was about to say something before Dean interjected. _It was probably nothing_ , you assure yourself. He clears his throat and stands to his feet, following his brother out the door, waiting for you in the hallway as you shut the suite door behind you. The three of you file into the elevator and descend down to the lobby. You climb into the impala once you find her, heading towards the nicest bar in town. At least, that's what Google reviews told you earlier when you did some research. 

"All research is important," Sam had joked. 

The place is booming when you pull up to it. Dean finds a spot to park and says something about doing some damage, which makes you grin as you climb out of Baby and make your way to the front entrance, the boys flanking you. You can already hear the classic rock that's booming through the bar's speaker system, which only makes your smile grow toothier. Dean's, too. 

You locate a booth in one of the far corners and climb in. Dean takes the place beside you while Sam sits opposite the two of you. A male waiter comes up almost immediately, taking your drink order and scurrying off the fill it. You and Dean make some small talk while you wait. Sam eyes up the place, taking in the scene. 

"To the ganking of a nest of nasty fuckers who've been the bane of my existence for far too long," Dean toasts once the beers and liquor arrive at the table, an almost too-big grin on him, "And to getting sloppy drunk and making poor choices that you may or may not regret come morning." 

"Here, here!" 

Brown bottles clink in harmony and laughs are exchanged amongst the booth. 

As you wet your whistles with a second round, the waiter comes back and sets a tumbler of what seems to be bourbon in front of an unsuspecting Sam. He looks up at the man confused. 

"It's from the lady at the bar," the waiter supplies, jamming a thumb over his shoulder, "Blue dress, black hair, bedroom eyes." 

All three of you look in the direction he's pointing, finding the woman in question. She smirks as she tongues the straw of the fruity cocktail she's holding, one eye dropping into a sly wink as she looks directly at Sam, who smiles nervously and quickly turns his attention back to the drink in front of him. 

(Sam thinks that he shouldn't let it go to waste. He also doesn't want the woman to think he's interested. He's _not_. And while he can't deny that the prospect of not having you for the night is a bit disappointing, he also can't let himself stop playing the field all together. That would be just a wee bit pathetic. 

He downs the drink in just one long swallow.) 

(Dean looks over at you to gauge your reaction, not missing the furrow of your brow and the tell-tale look of jealousy that vanishes almost as quickly as it appeared.) 

You swallow whatever just bubbled up to your throat and let a playful grin tug at your lips instead. "Looky there, Sam," you say, "You've got an admirer. Maybe, uh...maybe you'll get lucky." The confidence you had going into the comment swiftly dies on your tongue as you speak the last four words. 

They taste bitter. Sort of like ash. With the consistency of chewed up chalk. 

Sam's eyes shoot up to meet yours in response, his brows knitting together, his mouth in a tight line. You choose to ignore the way Dean's looking at you all together. You'd reveal too much if you looked at the older Winchester right now. 

(Sam's a little suspicious as to why Dean hasn't made a joke of his own. His big brother is awfully quiet given the current moment.) 

Your chest tightens when Sam answers with, "Yeah, maybe." He laughs into it, but if you're being honest—which you _aren't_ —it doesn't sound all that genuine. "Maybe I'll pop over to say thanks for the drink," he adds, shrugging as he tucks himself back into his half-finished beer, "Seems like the most reasonable course of action." 

(This time, Sam notices the way your face falls. He doesn't know what to make of it, though, because as quickly as it fell, you even faster let a smile brighten your beautiful face. It makes his heart thump a few beats quicker.) 

"Sam," you chuckle, truly humored for the most part at his words, "You make it sound like a planned mission or something. It's a hookup, for Christ’s sake!" 

The table laughs at that, the mood lightening again. As much as your encouraging Sam, you also want to wrap yourself around him and kiss the life out of those pink, succulent lips, shining with beer so obscenely that it makes your stomach roll hotly. But if he's interested in getting laid, who are you to stop him? 

That's most certainly _not_ your place. 

Won't be your place unless you grow a pair and tell him how you feel. Any hope of that happening tonight is squashed as you watch Sam pull himself out of the booth and make his way over to the blue dress lady, whose face lights up like that of a billion suns when she notices the tall, long-haired Adonis sauntering his way over. 

You know the look well. You kind of want to die. 

Dean levels a look at you as you watch Sam's every moment, one that says _your heart is showing, princess._ You scoff at him, playfully pushing at his face to deter his intrusive gaze. "Do me a favor, Winchester," you laugh with him, "And shut _all the way_ the fuck _up_." 

" _We're just friends_ , huh?" Dean playfully heckles as he repeats your words from earlier, curling his fingers around your wrist and pulling your forceful hand away, " _It's not like that_ , huh?" 

"I honestly hate you!" 

"Oh, _please_. You love me! But not nearly as much as you _luuurve_ my geeky, giant of a little bro." 

You drop your head into your hands. "I need a fucking drink." Turning back towards Dean, you begin pushing at his arm and shoulder that faces you, demanding he let you out. He obliges without much more fight, not missing the chance to say something smart-assy about you acquiring some liquid cowardice, seeing as how you're definitely not being very courageous right now. 

Eyes rolling in annoyance, you make a beeline for the bar, passing Sam and whoever-the-fuck without chancing a look at him. You don't mean to put some extra sway in your hips. It just happens that way, you _swear_. 

(Sam definitely notices. His attention is drawn away from the woman before him, Becca he learned, just long enough to watch the way your ass moves as you walk, your smooth, supple, _shapely_ legs making his throat bob just a bit in response. 

He quickly flicks his gaze back to Becca. He doesn't think she's realized. If she has, she doesn't mention it.) 

You tell the bartender you need two shots of tequila. Top shelf. The girl smiles at you and nods, grabbing two shot glasses from beneath the bar and filling them to overflow with the clear, strong liquid. 

"Put them on my tab, Lexie," an unfamiliar, but unmistakably male voice, says from behind you. 

Turning to meet the source, you come face-to-face with a man who is, let's be real here, _very_ attractive. His blue eyes sparkle before you, his blonde hair styled nicely atop his head, and he's dressed in a simple button up and dark-wash jeans. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows, showing of some very impressive, sun-kissed forearms. You take note and try not to let the simple observation make you drool. He's giving you a prize-worthy smile when you look back up to meet his ocean-like eyes. 

You might just get lucky, too. 

"Thank you," you smile back at the stranger. "You didn't have to do that." 

He shrugs casually. "It's my pleasure," he assures you, his voice like warm molasses sliding along your skin, "Not every day a creature as magnificent as you walks into a place like this. I noticed you as soon as you stepped through the door, waited for my chance to sweep you off your feet." 

_Smooth_ , you think. _Did I just giggle? Yep. That was definitely a giggle._

"Well," you reply, cheeks burning, biting down into your bottom lip. "Not sure if buying me tequila sweeps me off my feet. Feels like I'm pretty steady." 

He lets himself laugh at that. "I'm Jax," he supplies, holding out a big, inviting hand. 

"Janet," you lie smoothly, sliding your own smaller hand into his grasp, noting how warm his skin is against yours. He watches with intrigue as you throw back the first shot of tequila, then the second right after it, only grimacing for a second before grinning at him once again. 

The two of you fall into easy conversation. You laugh at his jokes. He _is_ pretty funny. He's sweet, too. Well, as far as you can tell for a guy you've known all of ten minutes. 

"You're not from around here, are you?" He questions you, motioning to Lexie for a fresh round of beers. 

"No, I'm here on business," you tell him, "Leave tomorrow morning actually." 

"Well," he smirks, tipping the beer to his full lips to take a long swig. He licks them clean rather attractively. "At least we have tonight." 

"That we do," you nod. 

With as much stealth as possible, you look over Jax's shoulder, to find where Sam's still in the company of the raven-haired temptress. Only, he's not looking at her. He's looking at _you_. The revelation makes you burn hot all over, your head quickly turning to look away from him, your face flaming. 

(Sam's let his attention leave Becca all together, his eyes zeroed in on you and some slimy stranger whose got his stupid hand wrapped around yours. He feels something simmering like burning coals inside him. Becca follows his line of vision, landing on you. She looks back at Sam with a knowing grin, her chocolatey brown eyes narrowed in amusement. 

"If you don't plan on sleeping with me," she says, garnering Sam's attention once again, "Least you could do is let me help you make girlie over there jealous. It's her, right? The one with the killer legs? Talking to that ridiculously handsome fella?" 

Sam nods curtly. 

Becca's grin that follows is nothing short of mischievous, turning just in time to see you quickly looking away. "Oh yeah," she says, "I can work with that." 

Sam's not sure this is a good idea. He goes along with it anyway.) 

Jax is telling about his job in finance. You listen to bits and pieces, nodding and humming to make it seem as if you're listening to every word. Your true attention lies in taking glances over his shoulder every so often, catching glimpses of what’s-her-face running her hands up Sam's chest and back down his arms, her leaning into a laugh at something Sam's said, her tossing her hair back over her shoulders and preening herself before him. 

Every atom in your body is revolting. You're practically vibrating with rebellion. 

("Is she looking?" Becca questions. 

Sam swallows nervously, trying to put on his best flirting face, to make the charade their playing as believable as possible. "I don't wanna look," he confesses, sounding only a little pathetic. 

Becca rolls her eyes, tickled. "You've got it bad, don't you, sweetie?" She asks, running her hands up his chest, making a show of it. "Damn, I think _I'm_ the one getting jealous." 

Sam chuckles at that. 

"Do something to me," Becca suggests. "You've gotta make her want to rip my head off, ya know? Make her fantasize about beating the shit out of me." 

"Jesus, okay," Sam agrees, unsure, hesitantly lifting a hand up to gently push some hair out of her face, twirling it around his fingers before tucking the soft tresses behind her ear. He puts on a boyish grin, dimples appearing, one he hopes reads as _I'm so feeling this right now._

"If she saw that," Becca smiles, "I'm totally getting mentally fucked up right now." 

Sam really laughs at that.) 

Something akin to absolute fury simmers just beneath your skin, your blood pumping hot through your veins. It feels like a swift kick to the gut, watching Sam's long, dexterous fingers toy with that fucking woman's hair. You'd give anything to feel your fist connect with her perfectly angular nose. That _bitch._

Jax notices right away you're not paying even an iota of attention to him anymore. Instead, focused just over his shoulder, your face red with what he can only guess is jealousy. He knows the look. He turns his head to see where you're looking, finding a man much taller than him flirting with Becca. He knows her from town. 

He looks back at you. "I take it you know that gigantic fellow?" 

Your attention finally snaps back to Jax, shame immediately filling you at being caught spying on Sam and so blatantly ignoring the man before you. "I'm sorry," you apologize instantly, "I'm sorry, Jax, finish what you were saying." 

Jax smiles softly. "I take it you know him way better than you know me." 

You kinda dislike Jax for prodding, but you also kind of admire him for not being super deflated by the revelation he's uncovered. Sighing in defeat, you decide to snatch up the opportunity to talk about this with someone who's _not_ Dean, someone who's not biased or will tease you about it. 

"Yeah, I know him," you admit, letting your shoulders sag as you take a sip of slowly-warming beer, turning yourself towards the bar you're sat at. "He's a, uh… _work_ colleague. We came to town together and I...I um." 

"And you have a serious crush on him," Jax finishes for you. 

"A big, fat one that's turning out to be a splintering thorn in my perky backside right now," you reply, busying your hands with tearing at the saturated label on your beer bottle. "I keep telling myself that it's nothing, that we're nothing more than friends." You laugh, but there's no humor behind it. "But this, what I'm _feeling_ ," you look at Jax, eyes a little sad, "It...it doesn't feel like nothing." 

Jax's face warms with sympathy, a glint in his kind eyes that says _I've been there_. "What's stopping you from telling him how you feel?" He wonders aloud. 

You shrug. "It feels complicated," you say in a soft voice, heart sinking in your chest. "We work together, right? Have for years. We do so much together, see so much of each other, that I just...I don't want to fuck up the status quo, I guess." You pinch the bridge of your nose between two fingers, squeezing your eyes shut, looking almost as if the thought alone gives you a serious headache. "I think I'd actually _die_ of mortification if I told him how I felt and he didn't feel the same way. So, I just won't." 

Jax reaches over, gets a gentle hand on your shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. "What will you do, then?" He questions. 

You give him a smile. "Drown my sorrows in copious amounts of alcohol, work," your smile turns to a soft smirk, "A handsome stranger if I'm feeling it." 

He nods, a grin pulling on his supple lips. "Just not with me, though, right?" 

A pained look crosses your face. You hate this part. "You know too much now, Jax," you tell him, "It just...wouldn't feel right." 

"I can respect that," he says, moving to run his knuckles along the line of your jaw, leaning in to get his mouth near your ear. "He'd be crazy not to want you as much you want him," he whispers warmly against your skin, and you smile into it the intimacy of it, looking down when you feel his hand on your hip, a folded napkin between his fingers. You watch, lip bitten between your teeth, as he slips it into the pocket of your skirt, his fingers sinking deeply into it, assuring the napkin is tucked safely inside. "Give me a ring should things change. Or if you just need a friendly chat." 

You giggle lightly at the tickle of his breath on your ear. There's no denying there's heat between you when he moves back just enough to press a kiss into your cheek, his hands locking around your waist to hug you close. You place your hands up on his shoulders, sliding them down the planes of his back, taking mental notes of the way he feels under your touch. 

"Hope he saw that," Jax smirks as he backs away from you, giving you a wink before turning away and disappearing into the cluster of bodies moving on the dancefloor in the middle of the bar. 

You can't lie. That almost— _almost_ —swept you clean off your feet. 

(Becca watches the way you interact with the guy in front of you before he disappears. 

"Ouch," she winces, looking back at Sam and seeing the way his eyes have gone a little desolate having seen it, too. "That didn't go quite as planned." 

"It's okay, Becca," Sam gives her a sad smile, "I don't know what I was exactly expecting anyway." 

Becca frowns. "You should just tell her how you feel, honey," she says, soothing a hand up and down his arm. "The worse thing she could say is _no thanks_. And trust me when I say that she'd be a lunatic to say no to a guy like you." 

Sam nods, letting his head fall a bit, smiling despite himself. He thanks her, let's her pop a peck on his stubbled cheek. 

"I'd give you my number, but," she shrugs, "I don't think you'll use it." 

"Probably not," he winces, "Sorry." 

She shakes her head, raven hair falling around her face. "Don't you dare be sorry," she tells him, "Just do the universe a favor and tell that gorgeous girl that you love her. Put us all out of our misery." 

Sam tucks her advice away in his brain. He can't deny it makes him feel a bit more confident.) 

You're in the bathroom, washing your hands, when someone clears their throat behind you. Eyes snapping up to look in the mirror, you meet the deep brown eyes of the woman who was just draping herself all over Sam.

"I'll be done in a sec," you say, averting your hardened gaze and continue rinsing the suds off your hands, with just a little bit more haste now. 

"He's crazy about you," the woman announces. 

You spin to face her, reaching blindly to pull some paper towels from the dispenser beside you. "Excuse me?" You reply, drying your hands, heart kicking up in a gallop against your ribcage. 

"Sam," she smiles, "He's crazy about you." 

You scoff, incredulous. "And just what would you know about it? You act like you know him or something." 

She's still smiling, unfazed. "You're right, I don't know him. I just know what it looks like when a guy has his heart set on someone. He looked at you like you were the only girl in the room, my existence be damned." 

You chew at your bottom lip, taking in her words. A strange feeling hits you: she's not yanking your chain, not playing with you in even the slightest. 

"Thanks," you whisper, letting the ice melt, mirroring her smile. She nods in response and retreats from the bathroom, leaving you alone. 

Sagging against the sink behind you, hands grappling for the porcelain edge, you try desperately to control your breathing where it's gone choppy. 

_Breathe in. Slowly breathe out. Inhale. Now, exhale. Shit. Fuck!_

(Sam's ordering a fresh beer, seated at the bar, when someone familiar, but so unfamiliar at the same time, moves in his peripheral to fill the empty barstool beside him. He can feel the stranger's eyes on him, can see a smirk without even looking. 

"Is there something I can help you with?" Sam asks, annoyed, looking at the blonde-headed, blue-eyed man now invading his personal space. 

"Jax. Pleased to make your acquaintance." He orders a beer. "I just came to give you some intel." 

"I'm sorry?" Sam stares confused at the man. This Jax character who, less than ten minutes ago, had his _filthy paws_ on you. Now he dares to breathe in Sam's direction. He thinks he should show this guy what's what. 

"The 4-1-1, the sitch, the lowdown, the scoop, the skinny—" 

"All right, all _right_ ," Sam stops him, holding a hand up, "I get it. Now, get to the point." 

Jax just continues to smirk. "I have reason to believe that the girl you're in town with, Janet—" 

_Janet? What the hell?_

Then it hits him, this dude's talking about _you_. You must have given him a fake name. Sam won't deny that thrills him just a bit, that Jax doesn't know your real name. 

"She's got the hots for you." 

"Huh?" Sam's shocked back into reality. 

"She has a big, stupid crush on you," Jax elaborates. He finishes off his beer in just a few gulps, wipes his chin with the back of his hand, climbing off the barstool. "Just thought you'd want to know. You're a lucky guy. She seems pretty amazing." 

Sam's face must be comical. He's in utter shock. "Uh, thu-thanks," he says, swallowing around the lump that's formed in his throat. 

"No problem," Jax replies. "I'd advise you to snatch her up before someone else does. That'd be the dumbest thing you could ever do: letting her slip through your fingers." 

"Okay, dude," Sam grimaces at the thought, "I got it." 

"Just sayin'," Jax shrugs, smirking as he sing-songs, moving to retreat, "Have a good ni-iiiight!" 

Sam sits there, finishes his beer, wonders what the fuck he's supposed to do with this information. Was it even true? It had to be, right? What would Jax gain from telling Sam this? Surely, not you. 

"Well," Sam says to himself, "Fuck me.") 

You leave the bathroom, feeling more than ready to head back to the hotel. Scanning the room, you find that Dean's preoccupied with a redhead in one of the bar's poorly lit corners. You decide to leave him be. You look around, finally recognizing a set of broad shoulders and head of lengthy chestnut hair the bar, a stupid grin forming on your mouth. You make your way over to him, stomach turning over, knees a little shaky as you walk. 

Once you stand behind him, gnawing nervously at your lip, you reach out and curl a hand around his shoulder. He responds immediately, spinning on the barstool to look at you. The smile that pulls at his lips damn near takes your breath away. It's so soft, so Sam. Your heart triples in size. 

"I'm heading out," you tell him, feeling a little hopeful, maybe a little helpless. "Just...wanted you to know." 

He nods, careful. "I'll, uh...I'll come with you, actually," he says, standing to his feet, now towering over you. 

Your gaze follows him up, eyes looking up into his where he stares back just as intently. You're making it obvious; you know you are, but you just can't help it. You're giddier than a fucking school girl. 

"Things didn't work out with what’s-her-name?" You ask, doing your best not to smirk in knowing. 

Sam smiles, all boyish charm in a manly frame. "No," he answers, throwing back, "What about you? I saw you with that _guy_." 

He sounds _jealous_. It sends warmth radiating through you. "Wasn't really feeling it," you tell him, eyes going earnest. "I guess my heart just wasn't in it." 

(Sam tries to smother a big grin. 

This feels too good to be true. It feels so real. So visceral. His heart is _pounding_. He can _hear_ the blood rushing in his ears. 

"Let's head back, then," he says, hesitantly but then bravely placing a big, splayed out hand on your lower back, guiding you through the throng of people and towards the exit. He tries not to fist his hand into the material of your top, can feel the heat of your skin through it, and fights desperately against the need to push you up against the nearest wall and lick his declaration of love, adoration, and want into your mouth. 

Once outside, in the cooling air of the night, Sam takes his hand away and walks as close to you as he can get without it being too weird. He takes note of the way you look over at him as you walk, your teeth bitten between your teeth. He meets your gaze for just a moment before looking away again, stuffs his fists into his pockets, and can totally tell that the smile on his face is big, stupid, and dopey as all hell. 

"Sam," you start, voice softer than he's ever heard it before. You've stopped walking, and Sam follows, turning to face you, question in his eyes, brows furrowed in waiting. "I...I just want to say—'' You stop short, lose your nerve, Sam sees it die on your lips and sees the way your eyes flit nervously between his. 

It sets him alight. Makes him brazen. 

"I want you so fucking much," he finishes for you, confessing, voice shaky but no less clear. "I've wanted you since I first laid eyes on you. I want you in every way. Whatever way you'll have me.") 

Fuck. He's gone and said it. And you're floundering. 

_Say something_ , you scream at yourself, _say anything!_

Then finally. "Kiss me, Sam." 

It's breathy-soft. Damn near inaudible. It's clear as day to Sam, however, because he moves into action, stepping forward to close the gap between you, his hands coming up to frame your face, fingers sinking into your hair, eyes trained on your mouth. You stretch up onto the toes of your wedges, fingers twisting into the worn softness of his flannel to anchor yourself to him, pressing up and up until you can feel his mouth, open and inviting, against your own. 

He _kisses_ you. Like, kisses the fuck out of you. His lips move with such certainty against yours, like it's what he was meant for. His tongue teases at yours, entices it into sinking into his mouth and you moan at the taste of him you find inside, a mixture of mint and hops and _Sam_ , and roll your tongue around his, desperate for more and more. 

(Sam can feel the blood moving to his groin after you moan so sweetly into his mouth, the vibrations of it on his lips making his head go foggy with the need to get you back to the hotel, where you can kiss you good and thorough and without any restraint. 

Because boy, he's holding back so he doesn't strip you bare right here in front of the bar and have his way with you. 

"We need to go," he whispers against your lips, trying desperately to pry himself away from you but finding it so hard at the same time. He wants more. He _aches_ for more. 

"Yeah," you agree in a breathy little tone, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth and sinking your teeth into the meat of it, gently tugging down before releasing. "We really do." 

"Fuck," Sam breathes out harshly, eyes crossing for just a moment. That was so fudging sexy. He thinks he just malfunctioned. 

He finally finds it in himself to pull away, sliding a big hand into your palm and carding his fingers through yours, curling them around to grasp securely.) 

You hum, biting at the static-like tingle in your lower lip, and wrap your free hand around his elbow, tucking yourself into his side, resting your head against his upper arm as you walk hand-in-hand back to the motel. You feel light on your feet, like if Sam were to let you go, you'd float right up into orbit and never come down. 

God, you hope this isn't a dream. That you're not somewhere passed out drunk, dreaming of this moment. How cruel would that be? 

The steady throb that's picked up between your thighs helps you to believe it isn't. You're suddenly hit with the revelation that you are on your way, right now, to the room where you and Sam Winchester are going to fuck the night away. Make love, of course, but _fuck_ nonetheless. 

"God, this walk is taking far too long," you sigh into the night, burying your face in his sleeve "I'd settle for an alleyway if it meant having you inside me right this second." 

Sam's steady gait stutters for just a moment at your words. He says your name, positively _scandalized_ at your very blunt admission, but his eyes burn bright when he looks down at you. 

"Patience, young padawan," he says with a grin. 

You smirk up at him, eyes going doe-like. "Yes, _master._ " 

( _Hnnnng._

Sam doesn't allow himself to even _think_ about what that just did to him. If he does, he'll absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt, find an alley like you'd mentioned, flip up that little skirt you have on, and fuck himself right up into you. 

Nope. He has more control than that. 

Or so, he hopes.) 

The hotel finally comes into sight, and you could cry with relief, could probably die from horniness. You've had the whole walk to think of all the things you want Sam to do to you, all the things you want to do to him, and you're positively, gloriously soaked through. You don't think Sam's faring any better, seeing as how he had to adjust himself a few times along the way. 

Once inside the hotel, you and Sam climb into the empty elevator and punch the button for one of the top floors. Sam takes advantage of the long ride up, laughing under his breath as he presses you back against one of the walls and just examines the flush of color that stretches from one cheek to the other. He smiles at it, looks into your eyes for a moment before leaning in, at the same time gathering your wrists into his hands and dragging them up over your head, pulling you taut as he lets his lips ghost across one of your warmed cheeks. His breath tickles your skin as he travels back towards your ear, places a soft kiss just behind, and moves down to mouth and nip at the underside of your jaw and along the length of your throat. 

"Sam," you gasp, tipping your head back so it thunks against the wall, rocking your hips up against him, feeling the hardness hidden in his jeans press into your lower belly. He speaks your name into the swell of one breast just above where your tank top starts, his tongue snaking out to lick along the stitched hem, dampening the material and as a result, your panties, too. The sensations he's supplying makes you press your thighs together, needing just a bit of pressure to help lessen the steady _thump-thump-thump_ of the heartbeat that moves to your suddenly, painfully obvious empty pussy. 

The elevator finally dings, announcing the arrival to your floor. "Thank fuck!" You yelp, tearing yourself away from Sam and exiting the elevator quickly, a just-as-enthused Sam following closely behind. It takes you just a few seconds to pull the key card from your pocket and slide it into the door, but it feels like an eternity before you and Sam tucked into the room for the night. 

As soon as the door shuts and locks itself, Sam's pressing you against it, must have a fascination with the gesture because it's the second time he's done it in less than ten minutes. 

Hey, you ain't complainin'. Just observin'. 

(Sam feels like he's going stark mad with want for you. 

He gets you up against the hotel room door as soon as it closes, kisses you with a bit more force tossed in this time, and drinks down the breathy little sounds you make for him. He notices you moving to grab the hem of you top and pulls away, watching with rapt attention as you curl your pretty little fingers into the material and make a show of pulling it up and up and up, until he's got an eyeful of the way your breasts look into the sexiest bra he thinks he's ever seen, all thin, satiny cups lined with delicate lace that lies so beautifully against your skin. 

"Goddamn, baby," Sam finds himself saying, voice gone low and rough, his big hands sliding up your bare torso until your tits are filling his palms, your chest heaving under his touch. You're panting for him. "You're so fucking gorgeous. Don't know what I did to deserve to see you like this." 

He looks into your eyes. He notices how _reverent_ your gaze has become. It tells him all he needs to know, and Sam finds that he has to look away and focus on something else because he thinks he might be getting a little overwhelmed with what he reads in your face. No one's ever looked at him like that, and he can't deny that the newness of it submerges him into a train of thought of all the ways he could fuck it up, ways he could lose it.) 

Sam's eyes glaze over. You notice it right away, framing his face in your hands and stretching up on tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his slack lips. 

"Come back to me, Sam," you whisper to him, working to soothe whatever just went through his head. "Be here with me." 

You reach down to undo the button on your skirt, but Sam's hands move to engulf yours, stopping you before you can undo anything. Eyes flicking up to meet his, you see the fire is back in his gaze, roaring hotter than before. 

"Leave it on," he says, voice sharp, demanding. You tremble in response, cursing under your breath and working your head into a nod of submission. You watch, breath held, as Sam falls to his knees before you, scooting himself close and slowly sliding his hands up the lengths of your legs, up under your skirt to fill them to overflowing with your ass, his long fingers digging so deliciously into the supple flesh. You slide your own hands into his hair, pushing it back away from his face, smiling as he melts into your touch. You drag your nails along his scalp just enough to make him shiver with delight at your feet. 

Sam leans in to drag kisses from one hip to the other, his hands moving to flip up your skirt and push it and bunch it in his fists at your waist. He stares at the matching panties you're wearing with hunger that's almost palpable, his tongue snaking it to run along his lower lip as he examines the darkened patch where you've gotten sloppy wet. He uses one hand to reach around and curl round the back of your knee, encouraging you to lift your leg and hook it up over his shoulder, opening you up and allowing him better access. 

You slap your hands back against the door you're pressed against, pushing and tilting your hips at a better angle, your breathing gone choppy and uneven, belly gone hot with anticipation. Wobbling on one cork wedge, you flex towards Sam's mouth, silently begging for him, letting his name puff last your lips in a desperate breath. He stares up at you, looks right into your eyes, and lets you see how ravenous you've made him. 

Then, he finally puts you out of your misery. 

(Sam moves in, presses his nose and mouth right up against the soaked-through crotch of your panties, taking in the sweet musky scent he finds there. He listens to your little punched out sounds, enjoys the soft _huh-huh-huh_ you let ring out when he slides his tongue up the inseam, teasing your puffy folds and tiny clit through the thin, sodden material, watching your belly jump in response. 

Sam grows hungrier, wanting to feel your most intimate flesh on his tongue. He uses the hand he has wrapped around the thigh hiked up against his ear, moving it up and in to grab your panties and tug them to the side, revealing your pussy to him for the first time. The realization of that sits heavy in Sam's gut, making his cock twitch where it's still trapped and straining to be released. 

"So fucking pretty, baby," he husks against your flesh, listening to your moans grow in volume once he dives in, tonguing up through your glistening lips and working the appendage around your erect little bundle of nerves, his free hand behind you, grabbing at your ass to drag you as close as he can get you as he eats you like you're his last meal. 

You taste so divine on his tongue. So unique. Sharp. _Rich_. It feels so decadent to him, like you're his own personal box of chocolates and he's found the best flavor amongst the bunch. He tucks himself into it, burying his face into you, grunting deep sounds of approval against your fleshy cunt. 

"Fuh—Fuck yes!" You call out, heading tipping back against the door as you fist his hair in your hands, tight enough to send little twinges of pain shooting down Sam's spine. He rocks his hips into the feeling, moaning around your clit as he sucks a kiss onto it.) 

The sounds of Sam's mouth on you are so fucking _obscene._

The squeaky, wet squelch of it filling the stillness of the suite should be embarrassing, but you honestly can't find a single care in the world that isn't fully dedicated to the magic Sam's working between your trembling thighs. It feels resolutely sinful. You openly wonder how _the fuck_ you allowed yourself to wait so long to feel him like this. You wonder if you'll ever be able to live _without_ it. The second thought hits a bit differently than the first, so you don't spend too much brain power on it. 

You finally just let yourself get lost in Sam and his awe-inspiring mouth, singing his praises and letting him know how much you love it. A undignified squeal leaves you when Sam moves a hand so it sits just below his mouth where he's latched onto your clit, sucking and gently pulling at the nub with his lips, and easily slides one long finger up inside you, seeing how you're utterly slick and well passed primed. It sends a new heat thrumming through you, that heat turning up to scorching when he adds a second, then moving up to damn near combustible when he gently, carefully wedges in a third, stretching you open wide around his fingers. 

When he starts thrusting them, curving them on the down-stroke, stars begin to burst in your vision. 

(You're tight around his fingers, clenching and practically sucking them back in when he pulls out, greedy and desperate for the fullness they provide. You're wet, too, so gloriously wet that Sam's mouth waters, his mind thinking up all the ways it could possibly feel to have you dribbling around his cock rather than his fingers. And your _noises_. Fuck! Sam would stay buried face-first between your thighs forever if it meant he could spend the rest of his days listening to those sounds. 

A sheen of sweat has broken out on your skin, Sam can feel it runs his unoccupied hand up your torso, climbing higher and higher until he's squeezing one of your breasts, the satin covering it so buttery soft against his palm. He feels you shake in response, no doubt using all effort you possess to not crumple to the floor. Sam wouldn't let you, though, he'd simply toss your other leg over his vacant shoulder and continue going to town. 

Blindly, Sam works one cup of your bra down, keeping most his focus on eating and finger-fucking your pussy, but sparing just enough to thumb over your peaked nipple. He feels you wrap a soft hand around his wrist as he works the bud, just to touch him, he guesses. He likes the way it feels, makes him hum into your lower flesh. 

"Sam," you pant, audibly gulping before slurring, "'m'gonna come." 

He keeps his pace steady, doesn't change a beat, working you higher and higher until your inner walls are contracting around his fingers, your hands sinking into his hair to ground yourself, shouting wildly through your release. 

It is like a symphony orchestrated just for Sam, sweet music to his ears. He thinks he's gotta get his cock inside you _pronto._ ) 

Where the fuck were you? What was your name again? Why did the world suddenly feel like it was made of nothing but soft, plushy clouds? 

_Oh, yeah,_ you pant, you just came the hardest you ever fucking have from someone eating you out. Actually, probably _ever._

"Marry me," you sigh, in a dream state, sagging against Sam as he stands to his feet, his arms instantly wrapping around you to cradle you to his chest. He rumbles with laughter, shaking his head and tugging at your chin, angling your head up so he can press a gentle kiss to your lips. A peck, really. Long and sweet. 

"We're wearing too much clothing," he whispers against your mouth, thumbs caressing the hinges of your jaw, fingers splayed around your skull, tangling in your hair. 

"Let me fix that," you whisper back, bringing your hands up to start releasing the buttons of his flannel, sliding your hands up his chest and over his undershirt once each button is popped, moving up and up until you can push the flannel off his shoulders and let it flutter to the floor. You work his second shirt off, finally revealing miles of tanned, taut flesh that makes your mouth water. You look into his eyes, feeling so lightheaded, and say, "I'll never understand how much perfection can be placed in the body of one single man." 

Sam's cheeks go rosy. He tries to look away, can't take the praise. He's worried about the scars that litter his exposed flesh, each one with a story more horrifying than the last. He doesn't think he's perfect. You can read it in his suddenly sheepish posture. 

So, you do what you can to prove it to him. 

With a soft, pliant mouth, you work over the places you can reach for right now, letting your tongue trace the places where the skin is puffy or raised, giving love and affection to the places most women might have ignored or neglected. You take note of Sam's change in breathing as he stands patiently before you, his fingers coming up to once more tangle in your soft locks, his lips grazing your temple. He moves his hands down your flanks, moving to get your skirt open as you continue your own ministrations, gets it loose enough to fall down around your ankles. 

You kick it away, sliding your palms up Sam's beautifully built chest until you can curl them around his neck, tugging him down just a bit so you can kiss him sweetly. "You're perfect to me," you say into his mouth, feeling his hands move between your bodies, getting his jeans unbuttoned and unzipped as he listens to you speak. "I'll be here, Sam. To remind you on the days when you just can't bring yourself to believe it. I'll be your reminder." 

(Sam's always been one for dirty talk. 

Real nasty shit that would make the greater population blush or want to vanish quickly. But, _this_ , the words you're saying to him right now, the _way_ you say them so matter of fact like there's no room for debate, it hits him in the fucking soul. Sparks to life places in him he let die so long ago, and here they are, laid out and bared before you, and you just keep pouring love and mending and fresh breath into them, filling up the empty, hollow spaces that don't know how they ever went without you. 

He doesn't cry. He _doesn't_. He simply let's a few tears fall that you promptly, tenderly kiss away. 

This is so much more than sex, he realizes, so much more than just a small crush revealed. It's his goddamn soul—as wretched and broken and ugly as it may be—coming into a new way of being. 

All because of you. 

"I need you so fucking bad," he confesses, voice trembling, eyes wet where they look down into yours. "I'm fucking aching for you right now. I've _always_ ached for you. My whole life." 

With such vehemence, you say, "I'm yours, Sam. I'm all yours. Show me who I belong to. Who I've _always_ belonged to." 

Sam springs into action, sweeping you up into his arms, bridal style, and heading straight for your room. He lowers you down onto the bed, watching you spread out and arch your back, stretching your limbs and sighing into it. He laughs at that, thinks it looks like you're preparing yourself for a marathon of some sort. 

He supposes you are. 

He bares your body, peeling off your panties and bra with slow, meticulous hands, leaving your wedges for last. He lifts up one foot, fingers wrapped around your ankle as he uses his free hand to loosen the ties and slip the heel off. Eyes meeting yours, he presses his thumbs into the arch of your foot, watching you bite down into your bottom lip and let your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of him knead any soreness away. He repeats the actions with the opposite foot, not stopping until you lay boneless upon the mattress, humming in pleasure and rolling your hips. 

He bares himself next, pushing down his already-open jeans and worn boxers, revealing himself to you in full. Cock swinging heavy between his legs, he watches the way you give him a once over, lips parted, cheeks flushed, and hand traveling down your torso until it's tucked between your spread thighs, rubbing sluggishly at your clit. 

"Beautiful," Sam breathes.) 

"Fuck me, Sam," you beg, pleading further with your eyes as you watch him stroke himself. His cock is the most magnificent cock you've ever seen. It's not overly long, but has positively mouth-watering girth and your poor pussy is desperate to feel utterly stretched around him. You feel sort of unhinged, more turned on than you've ever been in your entire life. It feels like a fever dream, a hunger so deep inside you, you physically ache with it. Rubbing yourself does so little to satisfy it, it's almost pathetic. 

Sam finally knees his way up on the bed and moves to settle his narrow hips between your thighs, hands traveling up the length of you, reveling in the feel of your soft skin under his touch. He presses his forehead against yours, looking down to watch you reach between your glistening bodies and wrap a dainty hand around his thick cock. He hums at the feeling, rocking himself into your fist a few times before you notch the head of him at the drooling dent of your pussy. You move your hand away as he starts to push himself inside you, burying both in his hair as you look up into his eyes, both of your mouths agape at the feeling of him slowly sheathing himself within your tight walls for the first time. 

"Oh, _shit_ ," you gasp, hips flexing to meet his, the feeling of being obscenely full making your body go hot, scalp to tiptoe. "Please, please, _pleasepleaseplease_ ," you cry once he's tucked snug inside you, curls against curls, hip to hip, chest to chest. "God, yes. Fucking take me, Sam. Fuckin' _ruin me_." 

Sam presses his mouth into yours and pulls his hips back, drinking down your scream of pleasure when he rocks forward and buries himself deep once more. He builds up a rhythm until he's pounding his cock into you, easily done with how much you're leaking around him, sloppy and wet and so willing to take him over and over again, in and out, in and out. 

"Fuck yeah," Sam breathes against your slack lips, making such heavy, stunning sounds that mingle so harmoniously with the slap of his agile hips against the backs of your thighs and his heavy sac against your ass. "This is my heaven, sweetheart. To finally be deep inside your tight, little pussy," he tells you, with fervent conviction, "It's what I've been dreaming of since I met you. Thought about this very moment every night, cock in hand, your name on my lips. So stupid of me to wait so fucking long." 

You hang on to every word that comes out of his mouth, feeling the way it further flames the fire building inside you. 

(If Sam thought you were beautiful with his head between your legs, he's even more entranced by you now that he's watching you take his cock. You look at him through heavy-lidded eyes, mouth open and vocal, body arching up into his to be as close as you can get while still getting fucked good and thorough. 

He loves you. And he loves you like this. 

You come shouting, wrapping yourself around him and dragging him down against you, burying his dick as deep inside you as it will go as you pulse steadily around him, eyes crossing momentarily in pleasure. He gives you a moment to catch your breath, hips squashed still against yours and lips doting affection on yours. You hum against his mouth, and he can feel you pour yourself into the small, soft kisses. 

"Wanna ride you," you tell him, eyes flickering with renewed desire. 

Sam rolls onto his side, bringing you with him as he continues further, falling to his back as you drag your knees up and sit up in his lap, his cock still nestled inside you, hard and throbbing and ready to flood your walls with his load. He wants you to feel as he gives you everything he's got. Wants to see your face when you feel him come inside you, filling you up with his hot spunk. 

He watches, enraptured, as you reach up and run your hands down the slopes and curves of your own body, tweaking your nipples until their fully erect and darkened by fresh blood flow, grabbing at the flesh of your hips as you let your head lull and neck elongate, reaching down further to press a few fingertips into the mound between your legs and pulling up to pull your folds taut, clit peeking out from between them. He listens to your soft gasp, watches you roll your hips into it, feels you tighten your floor muscles around his cock. 

Sam gasps, too. Shoves his hands up under the pillows at the head of the bed, reaches for the rungs of the iron [headboard](https://images.app.goo.gl/5WyLbEGcofgiG7XT6), settles in as you saddle up. He chews at his bottom lip and let's his eyes flutter shut when you pull up in his lap and drive yourself back down again, a beautifully broken moan falling from your lips. 

"I thought of you, too, Sam," he hears you say, breathy and light, splaying your hands out on his chest for some leverage to lean into, working up a steady rhythm. He listens, toes curling in pleasure and cracking under the pressure. "On the nights where I felt particularly lonely, _longing for you_. I'd push a few fingers into myself and imagine you talking pure filth into my ear. God, I could just imagine your voice so clearly, Sam. _Fuck_. I would always come so hard. And I'd cry out for you." 

Sam's dizzy, drunk on you, your wet, flexing pussy, and your _words_. Damn, your words were _good_. 

"But nothing can compare to _this_ , baby," you moan, popping your hips back and forth before settling into a deep, languid roll, making Sam's back curve off the bed for just a short moment. "Nothing compares to the real thing. Your cock feels so fucking good inside me, Sam. So big inside me. So… _ohhhh!_ " 

Sam drags his eyes open to see you, smooth skin glistening with sweat, brow furrowed in pleasure, thighs trembling around his hips. 

He wishes he could take a picture to capture this moment, so he can revisit it whenever he wants.) 

He's so _deep_ inside you, so wonderfully intrusive in the small space. You're panting, overwhelmed by his cock but hungry for it all the same. You're losing a bit of steam, you can feel the weariness growing in your legs with every pop, swirl, roll, and pivot. 

Sam notices. _Bless him._

He wraps his big hands around your waist, pulls his knees up and plants his feet on the mattress. The first upward buck of his hips pushes the breath from your lungs, sending you forward, pressing your hands into the spaces on either side of his head to brace yourself. He wastes no time, finds a rhythm and roughly fucks himself up into you, grunting out his pleasure. 

He guides your tired hips with his capable hands, letting himself do most of the work, shoving you down as he forces himself up, helping your bodies meet in a catastrophically outstanding way. White speckles your vision. Your mouth is open but no noise is coming out. Your body quakes, on the brink of what very well may be your last orgasm. 

No wonder they call it _la petite mort_. You're either dying or coming. You can't be one hundred percent certain right now. 

"Fuck… _yes!_ " Sam cries under you, throwing his head back, the veins along his throat straining, his mouth open and spilling forth the most striking sounds. "That's fucking _it_ ," he practically growls, pulling his head back up and looking down to watch the way your bodies collide over and over and over again. He moves his gaze up to look up into your eyes, sees how truly gone you are. "Come for me, Y/N," he commands, voice only betraying him a little, his hips staying steady, "Come on, beautiful. Come around my cock one more time. I wanna come with you. Want us to finish this right." 

You suck in as deep a breath as you can, gasping with it. "Oh, gggggod! Huh! Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fucking _fuck!_ " So close. So close it almost hurts. You're right there...just...need... 

(Sam gets the pad of his thumb against your clit, senses you need an extra push, and smears over it from side to side. 

He hears the second you stop breathing, body going rigid above him, frozen in place as powerful contractions, more powerful than the first, ebb and flow around his cock. He curses, works you through it, fucking himself to completion with you, his sac pulling up and his hips faltering as spurt after spurt of his pearly, warm come fills you up, your cunt working to suck every last ounce from his balls. 

Sam hums and gasps and grunts through it, wondering if he'll ever stop coming. Wonders if your pussy will ever stop pulsing around him. It all feels so good. Too good. _Almost._

When the most powerful quakes of his orgasm are behind him, Sam wraps his strong arms around you and feels you finally sag against his chest, breathing as harshly as he is. He gently rolls you onto your back, hissing as he gingerly pulls his sensitive, softening cock from your body with a wet squish, his come flowing out of you. 

He rests on his side next to your exhausted frame, dragging kisses up your sweat-drenched sternum, licking at the salt on your skin, climbing higher and higher until he reaches your lips, where he presses a soft, barely-there kiss. Then a few dozen more. 

"I can't feel my legs," you tell him, voice a mere rasp, a lazy smile dragging itself across your mouth. He grins back, noses along your cheek, down towards your ear. He feels you turn your head away from him, pressing it into the pillow, giving him access to your neck where he worries over the skin with his tongue. He feels the vibration of your hum more than he hears it. He curls his fingers around your jawline and drags your face back towards him, unable to stop kissing your lips.) 

You give him as much as you can, putting whatever energy you have left in sinking your tongue into his mouth and licking up at the roof of it, rolling and playing and languidly wrestling with his own tongue. You reach up and sink your hands into his dampened hair, the tresses thick through the webs of your fingers, slowly turning on your side and swinging a jellified leg over his hip. 

Your heart has never felt this complete before. It makes your chest tighten. Tears spring to your eyes. 

Sam must feel the wobble of your chin because he pulls back to look at you, so much admiration and love and utter devotion in his gaze. He combs the hair out of your face, traces the edges and angles he finds along the way with light fingertips. 

"You're positively _radiant_ ," he whispers, thumbing away a tear that escapes down your flushed cheek. "I'm so lucky to be here with you, experiencing this with you. There's no place else I'd rather be right now. Not. A. Single. Place." 

He punctuates the last few words with a kiss to different parts of your face—starting with your forehead, then each eyelid, down your nose, and finally your lips. 

"It's crazy how much time we wasted not telling each other how we felt," your voice shakes. 

Sam smiles fondly. "But we have so much more time to make up for it all," he says, resting his forehead against yours and breathing in the air that you breathe out. "You and me, baby. That's all I need." 

You smile. "What about Dean?" 

Sam chuckles. "Him, too. Most days, anyway." 

You tuck yourself into Sam's chest, humming happily in reply, letting the muffled lub- _dub_ , lub- _dub_ of his heartbeat lull you into a dreamless sleep. Sam's hands run up and down your bare back, tickling your skin, and his mouth is pressed against your hairline. 

(Sam holds you. Breathes you in. Loves the feel of your skin against his, even if it's going tacky with drying sweat. 

He smiles into your hair. In this moment, with you against him, snoring gently, he feels like he's the wealthiest man alive.

He's never felt more whole.) 

In the morning, you awake, still wrapped up in Sam. The need to clean yourself is strong, so you stealthily untangle yourself from his limbs, take a moment to examine the marvels of his bare body, and disappear into the bathroom and enjoy one more marvelous shower. 

Thinking of Sam, the whole time. 

(Sam awakes and notices he's _famished._

He rolls out of your bed and pulls on the boxers he picks up off the floor. He guesses that you're in the shower, going by what he can hear through the closed bathroom door. Moving into the common area of the suite, he begins picking up clothes that were scattered and forgotten about last night, piling them up in a chair nearby. 

He notices the double balcony doors are wide open, allowing a breeze to blow in. Walking through them and out onto the balcony, he sees Dean sitting at the table to the left, its surface filled with various plates of breakfast foods and fruit, a newspaper in his hands. 

"Well, good morning, sunshine," Dean greets, side-eyeing him before going back to the paper. "So, where, uh, did _you _sleep last night?" He smirks in knowing. "You never came to our room so...what'd you get up to, Sammy?"__

Sam chooses to ignore his brother as he takes a seat at the table across from him. He plucks a piece of fresh cantaloupe from the fruit tray and pops it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully through a smug smile. 

"Fine," Dean shrugs, folding up his newspaper and tossing it down on the table. "Don't tell me. I already put two and two together _anyway_."

Sam scoffs. "Then why bother asking?"

"Just wanted to hear you say it," Dean grins. 

Their attention is drawn away from each other when you come waltzing out onto the balcony, dressed in a satin cami and soft sweatpants, damp hair falling around our face. 

"Morning, Dean," you greet him with a smile, walking around the table to stand behind Sam, who instantly tips his head back to accept the gentle kiss you press to his lips from upside down.

"Yick," Dean rolls his eyes, "I'm trying to eat here. Be a little considerate, won't you?"

"Jealous, Winchester?" You smirk and take the seat settled between him and Sam, reaching for a piece of golden brown and buttered toast, relaxing back into the chair.

"In your dreams, princess," Dean scoffs, smothering a smile, nose wrinkling. 

It makes Sam grin, watching the two of you go back and forth with each other.)

(Dean won't say it just yet, but he's happy for the two of you. He just wishes he didn't have to see y'all kiss, because full stop, _no gracias_. 

He smiles despite himself, watching the two of you be so easy around each other, like it was meant to be since long before the two of you even knew each other.

He sighs. Content. And shoves a whole strip of thick-cut bacon into his gob.)

You enjoy breakfast with the brothers Winchester, one of them now a boyfriend Winchester. The thought makes your cheeks flood with sweet heat.

"So, how was your night?" You ask Dean to pull yourself off _that_ runaway-thought-train. "With what's-her-name? The redhead. Oh, let me guess! _Candy?_ "

"Or Honey," Sam joins in.

"Rose!" You throw out.

"Jasmine," Sam supplies. 

"Oh! I know: _Cinnamon_."

"Cherry." 

"Okay, okay," Dean holds his hands up to halt the game you made up years ago where you try to guess his _lady of the evening's_ name. Takes a second before saying, "And her name was _Jinger_ with a jay."

You scoff. "Oh, come _on_. That's way too ironic! I never woulda gotten that one right."

Dean snorts. "And to answer your opening question: the night was acrobatic and...maybe a little dangerous."

You slide your eyes over to Sam, his scrunched up face of confusion mirroring yours, before moving them back over to focus on Dean again.

"Yeah," you shake your head, reaching for some fruit as you add, "I'm not even gonna try to unpack _that_ one. Just keep it yourself."

Dean rolls his eyes. Sam smiles at you like you've said something extremely clever. Your heart skips a beat.

All is well.

**Author's Note:**

> Can anyone tell my fav dirty word is fuck & its variations? 
> 
> And I'mma just put it out there and say I pictured Charlie Hunnam as Jax (ha I'm so oRiGiNaL) because YES. 
> 
> Comment and leave kudos if you came _and_ cried lolz
> 
> xoxo
> 
> p.s. on tumblr again, started from scratch. Come find me - justcallmelosechester


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